Craig in Chains
by 1800hotlinebling
Summary: Craig has a problem, and it seems that there's only one solution to it. Slash, Craig/Mr. Grouper from Bubble Guppies.
1. Chapter 1 - Change

Howdy! I'll keep this brief as I know how annoying author notes can be. This is my first South Park fan fiction. It's a CraigXMr. Grouper slash, and I intend on making it really fucking filthy in later chapters, so if this type of thing doesn't float your boat, click the Back button now.

Craig in Chains

Chapter One - Change

Change is a funny thing.

Like when I was younger, I really hated my nose. My stupid big bird nose. I hated it so much that I'd constantly hide it under my hat, only taking it off when absolutely necessary. After my birthday party at thirteen, I decided that I had now 'come of age' I could do whatever the hell I wanted with my nose. So I got plastic surgery, and even though my mom didn't talk to me for a week over it, I'm glad to say that three years later, I still have a flat, round two inch gorgeous nose. Or 'shit', as Kenny calls it. Regardless of that dumbass's opinion, I never wear my hat anymore. It's stashed away somewhere, under my bed I think.

Sometimes change is a good thing.

Other times, not so much.

The most significant change in my life has been that of my thoughts concerning Eric Mr. Grouper. To be clear, my actual opinion of Mr. Grouper is essentially the same as it's always been. He's an overweight, egotistical fish prick whose sole purpose in this world seems to be making my life as unbearable as possible. I hate him and he hates me – we remind each other of this fact at least a dozen times every day. That's the way it's always been. But in recent years, I've been feeling something other than the usual outrage and disgust when it comes to Mr. Grouper and his fucked up behaviour.

It started in fourth grade when Mr. Grouper and I made that retarded bet about the leprechaun. That stupid asshole was determined to make me suck his balls, no matter what the cost. Of course, I never actually went ahead with it, and Mr. Grouper settled for just conjuring up an imaginary image of me doing it for everyone to see, which he appeared to deem as embarrassing enough for me. But that was just it – even though I stood there watching as the imaginary version of myself 'orally imbibed' the balls of the imaginary Mr. Grouper, I didn't feel embarrassed. I certainly looked it – eyes cast downwards, face flushed, teeth grinding together. On the inside though, a tingle ran down my spine and my stomach fluttered in the most usual way. It almost felt good, like I was enjoying the humiliation.

Over the past seven years, I've had many sleepless nights trying to figure out just what in the fuck went through my head that day. I'm sure it wouldn't have bothered me so much, had it just been a one-time thing. But it seemed to continue to happen whenever one of Mr. Grouper's plans to humiliate me actually worked. Whenever that asshole got the better of me he'd get right in my face, stare into my eyes and mock me with that gloating condescending annoying-as-fuck tone of his. But there was something about the low dangerous purr of his voice and the self-satisfied gleam in his dark eyes that caused my insides to writhe pleasurably. It freaked me out to the point that I wanted to run away, but I'd never give him the satisfaction. He's always told me that he loves nothing more than to see me angry, so that's exactly what I gave him.

When I got to the age of fourteen, I figured that it was quite likely that I was gay. This didn't surprise me in the slightest, though I didn't see the point in 'coming out' until I was sure. (As things stand now, I'm pretty certain that I am, but I'm still not coming out until I'm good and ready. I've told Stan though – that's good enough for now.) As appropriate as this revelation was at the time, it didn't really bring me any closer to working out what the fuck was going on with Mr. Grouper. I dismissed the thought that I could be attracted to him, despite the fact that he did tick all the boxes of what I considered to be 'my type' - taller than me, dark scales and eyes, strong broad gills. After all, this was Mr. Grouper that I was talking about – the guy who still maintains to this day that Hitler was 'the most awesome person in history ever'. As a bird, I really don't feel that I will ever be able to overlook this particular difference of opinion.

After grossing myself out over the idea that I could have a crush on that fat fuck, I made a conscious effort to stop thinking about Mr. Grouper and the way he made me feel. I've heard it be said that once you stop looking for the answers, the answers will come and find you. This seems to ring true, as an incident last week brought me closer to an answer than I've ever been. A few of the old South Park Elementary gang had met up to shoot some hoops after school. This included myself, Stan, Kenny and unfortunately, Mr. Grouper. The fucking fish got so pissed off that I kept blocking his shots that he snatched the ball and threw it full force into my face.

I fell to the ground and as blood ran down my chin, I could hear Mr. Grouper laughing about doing me a favour by 'breaking that fucking ugly bird nose'. I vaguely recall Stan yelling at him, but I was more focused on Mr. Grouper's voice and the throbbing in my face. My nose felt like a wilted flower and had swollen up instantly. It should have hurt like hell, but for some reason my body just wasn't identifying the pain. The usual tingling and fluttering sensations returned, intensified by the fact that Mr. Grouper's mocking tone rang in my ears. I licked the blood from where it had poured out over my lips and nearly moaned at the taste. It was at that point that I realised, much to my horror, that I was aroused. Not a full blown boner, but I was definitely at least half-mast.

I'm not sure how the hell I go out of that situation without anyone noticing my little problem, but let's just say that when I got home I spent a good half an hour in the bathroom 'solving it'. It was without question the most screwed up experience in my life and believe me, I've had a lot of screwed up experiences living in this town. What kind of person needs to jack off after nearly having their nose broken by their archenemy, for crying out loud?

So, how have my feelings for Mr. Grouper changed over the years? Having considered this most recent experience along with the others from the past seven years, I have now come to the following conclusion – My name is Craig Tucker, I'm 16 years old and I'm a masochistic gay bird who gets off on being hurt and humiliated by a fat Teacher Fish from the acclaimed children's cartoon 'Bubble Guppies' who hates my guts. And I like the taste of blood.

In short, I'm completely fucked up.

Bit of a slow start, but things will start to speed up in chapter two, which should be up soon. Review if you like. Thanks for your time!

DD

xx


	2. Chapter 2 - Research

Author note: Many thanks to the people who have reviewed so far. This is chapter two. It's just a short one. The next one will be longer, promise.

Chapter 2 - Research

I'm sure if my parents knew what I spent most of my time on my computer doing, they'd take it out of my bedroom. More accurately they'd take it out of my bedroom, smash the fuck out of it with a sledgehammer and then turn said sledgehammer on me. They would never understand that I'm merely conducting research into my apparent perverted predilection so as to make it easier for me to deal with and overcome the inappropriate thoughts that are currently plaguing my mind.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I access one of my favourite websites and click on what I feel is a video that will appropriately serve my researching needs. It shows an amv of Mr. Grouper and gill to the song, Bring Me to Life- Evanescence, I hate how he's famous. When the gill struggles to count to ten, Mr. Grouper help him, you can see the pain in his beautiful eyes as you hear the singers voice say "ALL OF THIS TIME I COULDN'T BELIEVE I COULD T SEE". I start whispering, calling him a fucking bitch and telling him he's gonna get fucked in the ass with a screwdriver. This might not sound very appealing to some people, but then again I'm not some people.

I absently lick my lips as Mr. Grouper in the autoplaying next video starts to rap "time for lunch", all while I hiss about how he is going to give the me an orgasm that will leave me unable to walk for the next week. This is some damn good research. But it's not even what Mr. Grouper is rapping that thrills me the most - it's the way he's rapping it. His tone is so authoritative; it makes you feel like you would have to bend to his will and eat your school lunch just because that's what he wants you to do. He's charismatic to the point that it's intimidating.

Just like bubble puppy...

I nearly leap out of my chair as the cell phone in the front pocket of my jeans starts ringing. I quickly hit the mute button on the video's volume control and flip my phone open to answer it.

'Hello?'

'Hey dude.'

Hearing my best friend's voice quickly brings me back to reality. I touch the back of my free hand to my forehead, taking a deep breath so as to compose myself.

'Hey Stan, what's up?'

'Not much. Just wondering if you're still coming over later and if you're up for going to that party tonight?'

I don't remember hearing about a party. Maybe I've just been too preoccupied with my own twisted thoughts lately to remember what's going on in the real world.

'Whose party is it?' I ask.

'It's some new girl from school that Bebe hangs out with. According to Wendy, she's so desperate to be popular that everyone's invited. And apparently her folks are loaded, so there's gonna be loads of free food. And alcohol.'

This doesn't really entice me as I'm not much of a drinker. I'm not even much of an eater, for that matter considering my diet consists of just bird seed. But maybe a break in routine will help to take my mind off the situation.

'Cool, sounds like a plan.'

'Grouper's probably gonna be there though. You okay with that?'

That's just fucking typical. So much for taking my mind off things.

'Sure, no problem.'

I cringe as I say this. I hate lying to Stan. He knows that I'm gay and doesn't give a shit, but obviously I haven't mentioned my pain fetish to fish. Or my fetish. Why the fuck would I? Why would anyone want to tell a human being something like that, unless that other human being happened to be a mental health and furry professional? Besides, Stan would probably throw up if I told him. Actually, there's no probably about it. This is Stan we're talking about here – he'd definitely throw up.

'Well, awesome then. Catch you later!'

We hang up without saying goodbye, which isn't unusual. I turn back to the computer monitor to see Mr Grouper's shit eating grin as he teaches the kids about fire trucks. I shut down the window as my thoughts turn to tonight. Surely if everybody in South Park High is coming to this party, avoiding Mr Grouper shouldn't be too hard. Out of sight, out of mind - right?

I shut down the computer and get up from my desk, thinking about what I have clean to wear. As I begin hunting through my closet, the image of a smirking Grouper clutching a riding crop briefly flashes through my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh deeply.

This is gonna be a long fucking day.

Thanks for reading. I'm really enjoying writing this story, so chapter three shouldn't be long.

DD

xx


	3. Chapter 3 - Medicine

Author notes: Just wanna say a quick thanks once again for the reviews, adds to alerts/favourites, etc. Really appreciate it. Here's chapter 3. It's a long one, as promised. Apologies if it doesn't flow right in parts – because it's the first time in this story that Craig and Mr Grouper interact, I've been trying to get this chapter as perfect as possible for the last few days, and I've been fiddling about with it so much that it's got to the point that I'm sick to death of looking at it. So, do try to enjoy!

Chapter Three - Medicine

Having had an afternoon-long mental battle with myself over whether or not to run the risk of bumping into Grouper, I eventually went to Stan's house and now we're at the party. I settled on wearing a blue plaid fitted shirt with dark blue jeans and a dark blue beret to top it off. Stan thinks I look like a gay blue bird about to go golfing, which I guess is at least half true so fuck it. The night hasn't been very eventful thus far, and although I've been here over an hour I still have no idea whose party this is. Nobody seems to, actually. Nobody cares, as long as they're getting free alcohol.

We're hanging out in what appears to be a den or something. I say 'we', but it's pretty much just me at the moment. Stan has fucked off to God knows where with Wendy, and although Kenny is standing next to me, he's far too 'busy' staring at Bebe's rack to make any sort of coherent conversation. Kyle

and Cartman are nearby, but they're talking about hitler. I get my fill of hitler talk at home from Ruby, that fucking oni-chan. Next thing you know, she'll be living in an germany and going jew hunting.

Suddenly, my beret is knocked off my head from behind. I don't need to turn around to know that I've failed in my mission to hide from the one person I really didn't want to see tonight.

'Craig, so nice to see you! How's the nose?'

His voice drips with sarcasm as he drawls out my name and touches my shoulder in a feigned show of concern. At least I don't get turned on when he's like this – this isn't the authoritarian of my fantasies. This is just an annoying fatass.

'Fuck off, Mr. Grouper.'

I bend over and pick my hat up from the floor, brushing it off before placing it back on my head. Refusing to look at him, I pretend to find the bubbles in the glass of Coke in my wing really interesting. I hear him sniggering behind me. He hasn't fucked off yet.

'Nice hat. You look like a fucking girl scout. Shouldn't you be somewhere selling cookies right now?'

'Like I'd bring cookies anywhere near you, fatso.'

Fuck, I wish I hadn't have said that - I need to remember that it always pisses Mr. Grouper off more when I ignore him as opposed to giving him an answer. But after a busy day of beating off to Bubble Guppy fan videos, I've decided that self control probably isn't my strongest suit. And in all fairness, Mr. Grouper isn't really all that fat. He's one quarter puffer fish and he also lost a ton of weight over a period of about six months. Don't get me wrong, he's still a goddamn fatass. He just isn't overweight to the point that it's unhealthy like he was when we were kids.

Before Mr. Grouper has a chance to reply to my comment, Stan returns with Wendy in tow as per usual. Sometimes I really wish that Wendy would just fuck off for five minutes. They're a great couple, but I can't understand why Stan wants her around all the goddamn time. I once told Kenny that I felt this way. He just grinned and said, 'There'll come a day in your life when you'll discover a special person, the one true love of your life. When that day comes, you'll understand.' I guess I'll just have to wait and see if he's right.

Craig, Cartman, Clyde and Bebe come over to join our little group and we all start chatting amongst ourselves. I discreetly watch Mr. Grouper out of the corner of my eye. He looks pretty bored, opting to sip his drink and watch the snow fall outside of the nearest window rather than engage in polite conversation with anyone. His scales are shiny as usual and he has this really faraway look in his eyes, like he's deep in thought about something.

A quick up and down glance shows me he's dressed casually in blue jeans, a dark grey shirt, a red scarf and his favourite black leather jacket. He really loves that jacket – not only does it make him look slimmer, but he also he thinks it makes him look 'really hardcore-macho and badass-cool'. I would have to agree. He looks pretty hot in it.

If I'm being totally honest, he is sort of physically attractive in his own way. Fair enough, he's carrying more than just a couple of extra pounds, but the weight kinda suits him – like it gives him character or something gay like that. And besides, nobody's perfect. I once had my big stupid bird nose, so who am I to judge anyone?

I'm distracted from scrutinizing Grouper when Bebe struts passed me, swaying her hips as she goes. Don't get me wrong – it's her outfit that I'm looking at. I don't mean to sound like a typical bitchy gay man, but she dresses like a colour-blind pole dancer. Purple miniskirt, red tube top and hot pink stiletto heels – hideous! She must have been on her way to the kitchen as Kenny announces that he's gonna go help her. Poor guy - he worships the ground her breasts walk on, and they just don't seem interested.

'Anyone want another drink while I'm in there? Craig, what's yours? Pepsi?'

I glance down at my nearly empty glass and hand it to him.

'Coke please, Ken. You know I hate Pepsi.'

I really do, it's gross. Too fucking sweet and makes me piss like a horse. As Kenny scuttles into the kitchen after Bebe, Mr. Grouper seems to snap out of his snow-induced trance and looks over at me, eyebrow raised.

'They're the same thing.'

'Huh?

He rolls his eyes and takes moves towards me.

'Pepsi and Coke are the same fucking thing.'

Grouper takes a swig from the beer bottle in his fin, eyes still locked on mine. I was wondering when this would happen. It just wouldn't be a party in South Park without a good old fashioned pointless argument between the resident Fish and his Bird counterpart.

'Mr. Grouper, if they were the same thing, they wouldn't be two different brands. They taste totally different to each other.'

'Oh, that's such bullcrap.'

I hear Stan sigh irritably. You would have thought that he'd be used to our trivial disagreements by now, but even after all this time they still piss him off. I don't care though and neither does Mr. Grouper. If it pissed Stan off that much, he wouldn't hang around to observe us doing it.

'Okay then fishface. If they do in fact taste the same, then why do I prefer Coke to Pepsi?'

'Simple. The recipe of Coke is essentially the same as that of Pepsi, except for one key ingredient - a light sprinkling of nose candy.'

'What the fuck are you talking about?'

A small crowd has gathered. It doesn't faze either one of us. We're used to people finding our petty disputes entertaining. I take up my usual stance of 'back straightened tall, hands fisted' while Mr. Grouper explains his theory.

'The caffeine in Coke is addictive enough by itself. But with so many caffeine based soft drink products on the market, how do Coca Cola edge out their rivals? Easy - they make their drink the most addictive by adding a small amount of cocaine to the recipe. It's not the taste that you like, Craig. Just the blow. I'm a children's teacher, I should know'

'That's completely retarded. There's no crack in Coke. It tastes different to Pepsi because the syrup is made differently. You just can't taste the difference because you're a fucking fish.'

Mr. Grouper glares at me in response to this. He looks thoughtful for a moment, and the glare melts into a sly smile. I feel a bet coming on.

'Okay then, tall boy. If your palate is so finely tuned, how about a taste test to see if you actually can tell the difference?'

'Fine. But if I can do it, you have to formerly apologise to me in front of everyone on national television for busting my new nose open the other day.'

This concept seems to disturb Mr. Grouper a little bit. He hates having to apologise, especially to me. He reluctantly nods.

'Alright then, but if you fail, you have to do five shots of whiskey. One after the other. Deal?'

That bastard. I hardly ever drink. He knows I'd struggle to handle one shot, let alone... I raise an eyebrow. 'Why five shots of whiskey?'

'Five's a good number when it comes to whiskey shots. I think there's some country song named after it... Anyway, deal?'

He extends his hand for me to shake. As I weigh up my options, I'm confident that I can win, so I clutch his fin with my spider fingers enthusiastically.

'Okay, deal.'

Stan taps my shoulder as Mr. Grouper breaks contact with me and yells for someone to help him prepare for the taste test.

'Dude, I thought you'd learnt your lesson about making bets with that fish fuck long ago.'

'But he's wrong,' I offer lamely.

'He's a teacher, Crag...'

He directs this remark more at Wendy than at me, so I'll assume that he's done trying to convince me to drop this particular issue. It's not that stupid of a thing to argue about, plus he's not even a real teacher. In fact, he's just a children's tv host, plus this is a very universal topic. Everybody loves carbonated drinks, right?

Grouper returns, two glasses filled with soda in his fins. He places them down on a table in the corner of the room, pulls a chair out from under the table and gestures for me to take a seat. I flop down in the chair and inspect the two glasses. They look identical, but I'm sure that I'll be able to taste the difference. Suddenly, a piece of red material drops in front of my face. I brush it away and glance up at Mr. Grouper, looking a lot more irritated than what I'm actually feeling.

'What the hell are you doing?'

'Blindfolding you, dipshit!'

He's taken his scarf off to use as a blindfold. I feel a lump in my throat – the guy I fantasize about dominating me sexually wants to blindfold me with an item of his own clothing. That's so cool and so fucked up all at once.

'Why is that necessary? He didn't even see you fill the glasses.'

Thanks so much for your input, Wendy. Now kindly shut the fuck up and let the nice fish teacher blindfold me. Mr. Grouper snorts, seemingly in agreement with my secret thoughts.

'It's necessary so that Craig doesn't try any sneaky birdy tactics, like reading my mind or body language or some other shit.'

Before I can defend my people from Mr. Grouper's latest verbal assault, he ties the makeshift blindfold over my eyes, securing it with an unnecessarily forceful tug. I shudder as a dozen dirty thoughts enter my mind all at once. I'm glad that the scarf covers most of the top half of my face as I swear I'm going to blush. Hopefully if anyone notices, they'll assume it's with anger over the 'sneaky bird' comments. I feel Mr. Grouper's warm breath on my right ear as he hisses to me huskily.

'You're going down, beak boy.'

I'm also very glad that the bottom half of my body is hidden under the table right now.

'In your dreams, fatass.'

In mine, is more likely.

Mr. Grouper pushes the first glass into my hand and I take a slow sip. That's definitely Coke because I don't feel the urge to spit it out. I place the glass back down on the table in front of me and Mr. Grouper takes my hand and places the second glass into it. His fins are really soft. I hesitate as I push that intrusive thought from my mind before bringing the glass to my lips. I don't feel like spitting this one out either. So I swallow. Another dozen naughty thoughts flash through my head. Focus, goddamn it...

'Er...could I have the first one again?'

I hear Mr. Grouper sigh impatiently as he takes the glass from my hand and replaces it with the first glass again. I don't know why he's getting so agitated since it's looking very likely that he's going to beat me. I take another sip from the first glass. I can't detect any difference in the taste. I can't believe he was right.

'So Craig, which one is the Coke? What is that monkey on your back telling you?'

I'll just have to take a guess. At least I've got a good fifty-fifty chance of getting it right.

'The second one.'

'Are you sure?'

I nod slowly, removing my blindfold just as Mr. Grouper breaks out into maniacal laughter. He punches the air in triumph and runs from the room shouting like a lunatic. I take it I guessed incorrectly? I glance at Stan who closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose just as Mr. Grouper returns, shot glasses and a bottle of scotch in hand. With amazing speed, he slams the glasses down on the table in front of me in a line and fills each one with the whiskey.

'Take your medicine, asshole!'

I look blankly at the alcohol and frown. The most alcohol I've ever consumed in one go before now was two small glasses of red wine when Stan's parents had this big dinner for him to celebrate his sixteenth birthday. I had a splitting headache afterwards, despite the fact that it took me three hours to drink them. If I drink all of this shit, I'll be totally fucking trashed. There's gotta be a way out of this. Think Craig, think!

'How do I know you're telling the truth about which glass was which?'

'Butters filled the glasses, dickhead. Are you calling Butters a liar?'

'I don't tell lies, Craig,' Butter pipes up defensively from the back of the room.

I nod, flashing Butters a reassuring smile. Butters is incapable of lying. I guess I lost fair and square, so I need to suck it up and take it like a man. I look back at the line of shots, leaning forward in my chair to sniff at the alcohol curiously. I've never had whiskey before. It smells like a permanent marker. Mr. Grouper laughs.

'What's wrong? Is the high and mighty bird scared of a little booze.'

I frown. 'I'm not scared, you fat bastard! I'm just not used to drinking hard alcohol.'

'Craig, you don't have to drink them if you don't want to.'

Stan has decided to take control and moves to take the shot glasses away from me, but his hands are knocked away by Mr. Grouper.

'Yes he does! He lost the bet.'

'He'll get sick if he drinks all that, you fucking idiot.'

'Well, he should have thought about that before-'

Mr. Grouper trails off as he sees me bring the first shot glass to my lips. My insides clench in disgust as the golden liquid pours down my throat. This stuff tastes like a burning hunk of wood covered in shit. Why would anyone drink this crap for pleasure? I want to get this over with quickly so I down the contents of the other four glasses, spluttering only once after swallowing my third mouthful. As the fifth empty glass hits the table everyone in the room cheers, with the exception of Stan and Wendy who both look horrified.

That was likely one of the stupidest things I've ever done, but the way Mr. Grouper is grinning makes me feel really happy that I did it. He looks genuinely impressed, nodding at me approvingly. I blush, though I don't think he notices. Judging by the sudden tightening of my jeans, I really like the fact that I've made him so pleased.

'My my, Craig,' he drawls. 'It looks like there's more to you than being a bothersome bird after all.'

Mr. Grouper, you don't know the half of it.

I hope that was okay. I really kind of struggled on the last page or so. Let me know what you thought. Chapter four coming soon!

DD

xx


	4. Chapter 4 - Wasted

Author notes: Good day to you! This is chapter four. This was quite tough to write as I've never wrote anyone drunk before. I think I've failed epically. But I shall let you be the judge of that, dear reader. Quick thanks once again to the people who have reviewed, alerted, etc. Anyway...enjoy!

Chapter Four - Wasted

I really, really shouldn't have had those shots.

After the initial excitement of 'Craig did five shot of whiskey, woo-hoo!' died down, relative normalcy resumed. I was okay for the first ten minutes or so, just happily sitting at the table waiting for my boner to disappear. It wasn't really helped along by the fact that Mr. Grouper had sat down opposite me, his tail accidentally brushing against me every so often under the table. I guess the ability to drink hard alcohol is something he admires, as he was actually talking to me like I was a human being for once. Or maybe it was just because he had been drinking too.

Then, I began to change. Whenever Mr. Grouper said anything even vaguely funny, I started giggling uncontrollably. This appeared to amuse him greatly, so he leaned forward in his chair and told me all of the funniest jokes he could think of. He's actually quite funny when the jokes he's making aren't anti-Semitic. As we sat there, I noticed that we were getting quite a few odd looks from the people we know – like they were thinking 'why the hell are the fish and the bird getting along so well? Why aren't they blubbing at each other or squacking over something random for our amusement like they normally do?'

Sorry dudes, we're on a break.

'Well, I'm hungry,' Mr. Grouper says suddenly, standing to stretch his back. 'I'm gonna go get some food.'

I might as well follow. As I stand up, my head feels like its spinning. My vision is kinda hazy and I'm really tired all of a sudden, but the last thing I want to do right now is sleep. It's not often that I can hold an entire conversation with Mr. Grouper without at least one of us making a death threat to the other at some point. I figure that the world is probably coming to an end – I really don't wanna be asleep for something like that.

Next thing I know, we're in the room where the food is laid out. I have no idea what room exactly - I only vaguely recall walking here.

'What's that you've got?' I ask.

Mr. Grouper looks at what I point to on his plate – looks like a little pile of crumbs.

'Fish flakes.'

'What's those taste like?'

Yeah, fuck grammar - I'm drunk. Mr. Grouper smirks, holding a fin-full out to me.

'Why don't you find out?'

I match his smirk and take them from him, deliberately brushing my fingers against his fin as I do so.

Little do you know, this isn't the first time I've had a boner

I relish this mischievous thought as I curiously chew on the sweet tasting crumbs. I quickly decide that fish flakes are tasty but they also kinda suck. There's hardly anything in them. I feel like a tramp who has found someone's cupboard of pet food and after promising to feed their fish, I fed myself. The flavoring is delicious though - so much so that when I'm done eating, I decide to indulge myself. I trail my tongue and lips from one end of the my hand to the other, suckling and licking at the flavored powder until I'm left with only a wet hand. When I finish, I glance back at Mr. Grouper. He's been watching me, smirking with a single eyebrow raised. I can't help but wonder what he was thinking as I sucked every part of flavor off my fingers.

Suddenly, my nice clean hand is snatched by the wrist. I turn around to meet Stan's eyes. He doesn't look very happy.

'Craig, what the hell are you doing?'

He doesn't sound very happy either. I look from Stan to my hand, then to Mr. Grouper and then back to Stan again.

'Dude, I'm eating.'

Stan rolls his eyes. 'Why are you eating fish flakes?'

'They didn't have any bird seed.'

Hey look, Craig made a funny! Mr. Grouper sniggers. Stan doesn't.

'You do realise that those are for bebe's fish, right?'

Oh, right. I'm not a fish, right? Oops. Letting out one of his obnoxious 'I'm so bored with this conversation' yawns, Mr. Grouper reaches over to Stan and takes the my hand from him, tossing it over his shoulder carelessly and dragging me over.

'Relax, hippie. Is it really such a big deal for a bird to eat fish flakes?'

I nod slowly then get angry, I'm not even a fucking bird… or am I? It was bad enough when I was 12, telling them that I was a bird after watching some fucked up bird anim. My mom would go absolutely ape shit if she found out I'd eaten fish flakes and changed my mind again. I guess there's a simple enough solution to the matter though – I just won't tell her.

'It's very big deal, Grouper,' Stan says sternly. 'He'll get too fat to fly, it's forbidden for birds to fall.'

'I like doing forbidden things sometimes.'

Both of my friends look at me strangely. I blush a little. As true as that statement is, I don't quite know why I felt the need to say it. Mr. Grouper breaks into a grin.

'Really? Like what?'

Just as I'm about to answer, Stan grabs my hand and pulls me across the room. I think he wants to have a friendly heart-to-heart. That's cool. It's been a while since we've had one.

'Dude, I really think you need to go home.'

My mind and body both scream 'nay'. I concur.

'Why go home? I'm having lots of fun! And Grouper is being really nice to me.'

Stan frowns. 'Craig, you're drunk.'

'So is pretty much everyone else.'

I gesture to Kyle who is unconscious and snoring on a nearby couch, and to Cartman and Kenny who are busy trying to shave off Kyle's eyebrow without waking him. Stan shakes his head in disbelief.

'They're used to it, you're not. You need to go home, sober up and get some sleep before you do something to embarrass yourself.'

I'm surprised at how Stan's words make me feel. I'll always freely admit to being a stubborn bastard. I was when I was younger and I am even more so now that I'm a teenager. If someone had said something like that to me usually, I would have told them to mind their own goddamn business, then gone and drank another five shots of whiskey just to spite them. But for some reason, I'm really touched that Stan seems to care so much. I almost feel like crying. How retarded.

'You're such a good friend, Stan!'

I feel his body tense as I throw my long arms around him, embracing him tightly.

'Er...it's cool, dude.'

I can tell he's a bit uncomfortable with this, and to be honest I am too. But for some reason, I continue snuggling into him and babbling.

'Really, you are. I act like such a shmuck sometimes and you're always so patient with me. You're great, dude. I love you so much.'

Before he can respond, I lean in and give him a firm peck on the lips. Stan jumps back in shock and gawks at me, wide eyed. We both glance around the room to see pretty much everyone staring at us. Wendy looks so furious, it's laughable. At least Mr. Grouper seems to think so anyway. I turn to Stan to see his cheeks blush but his eyes shut, the bridge of his nose firmly pinched between his index finger and thumb as he looks away.

' Craig...go home.'

I smile apprehensively. I'm about to explain that I just got caught up in the moment, but I notice that Wendy is approaching fast, like some kind of purple heat-seeking missile. So I quickly mutter my agreement/apology/farewell in one short garbled sentence and stagger towards the doorway. I pass a chuckling Mr. Grouper on my way.

'You're not leaving, are you? You're the life and soul of this piece of shit party, beak face!'

I don't stop to answer, making a mad dash for the exit as I suddenly feel the urge to throw up. I pull open the front door and stumble out into the cold, tripping on the doorstep as I go. Astounded that I don't fall flat on my nose, I stand still for a minute breathing in the night air. It makes me feel a little better. But did I really just kiss Stan? Not that it meant anything... because it definitely didn't….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. I don't like Stan in that way ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. ….. Regardless! I can't decide whether or not doing that was stupider than doing the shots. Or stupider than sucking suggestively on my fingers in front of Mr Grouper.

Suddenly, there is heavy blubbering on the doorstep behind me.

'Later, assholes!'

The door slams shut and Mr. Grouper appears beside me. I quirk an eyebrow at him.

'You're leaving too?'

He glances at my face, no doubt observing how ill I'm assuming I look. Mr. Grouper pushes his fins into the pockets of his jacket and nods.

'That party sucks ass. Besides, you just made out with Stan and I haven't had a chance to rip on you for it yet.'

I groan, feeling sick again all of a sudden. Mr. Grouper laughs as we walk away from the house and down the street together.

'Did you see Stan's face when you kissed him? Fucking priceless! Wendy looked like she wanted to cut your balls off!'

'Of course she did! I kissed her hot boyfriend in front of all our friends!'

Mr. Grouper snorts somehow with his fishy gills, rolling his eyes. 'So what? It was only on the lips! It's not like you dropped to your knees and offered to suck him off or something. Stupid bitch overreacted as usual. Probably just worried that Stan finds you more attractive… ….. than her dowdy ass.'

As Mr. Grouper is talking, another wave of nausea suddenly hits me and the entire contents of my stomach erupts from my mouth and nose. That was the grossest tasting puke ever, like pure stomach acid. I officially feel like shit, but I'm about to feel even worse as I finally realise exactly what I barfed on. Or more accurately, who.

'Dude! You fucking puked all over my jacket! Fucking sick! I oughta kick your ass if I had legs, Craig!'

Next thing I know, my ass hits the sidewalk. I landed with an audible thump, but for whatever reason it didn't hurt. I look up to see Mr. Grouper dusting off his fins but making no move to beat my ass, apparently satisfied with having merely pushed me down. He removes his jacket carefully, shaking the puke off of it into the street. I open my mouth to apologise, but when Mr. Grouper turns around to scowl at me, I suddenly feel angry.

'Don't look at me like that! This is all your fault for getting me drunk, fishface!'

'You only had five shots! Single measures! Maybe if you weren't such a fucking pussy and could handle your drink a little better...'

He trails off as he notices a single tear roll down my face. Well, aren't I just a whirlwind of destruction? In the space of one evening, I've managed to get wasted, break one of the laws of birdkin, molest…... my "best friend" and make an ass of myself in front of everyone I know. Now, having just puked all over the object of my pent-up sexual desires, I'm on my ass in a mound of snow with tears on my cheeks and vomit on my chin. Aren't I just so fucking clever? For lack of anything better to do, Mr. Grouper tries his hand at saying something reassuring and fails.

'Just go home. I'm sure your hippie-fag boyfriend will have forgiven you by morning.'

'I can't go home like this! My Dad will fucking kill me!'

My voice cracks pathetically as more tears come. is looking down at me with a look of sheer disgust on his face. I totally ashamed for letting him see me like this, but like so many times before, the shame feels so good. I pull my knees up to my chest, dropping my head forward to hide my face as I start to blush again. I thought alcohol was meant to slow down your blood flow. It's clearly not doing its fucking job properly judging by the painful throbbing inside of my jeans. I have such serious problems right now.

Grouper sighs impatiently. 'So what are you gonna do? Just sit in the snow sobbing like a date-rape victim on prom night until you sober up?'

'Yes.'

I pout moodily, hugging my too-long legs to me tighter as if to make my point, but all this action does is put more strain on my pulsating crotch. A few moments of silence pass as I await Mr. Grouper's response to my abrupt, albeit muffled, reply to his distastefully worded question. I start to think he might have given up and gone home until I'm roughly dragged to my feet by the collar of my shirt.

'Get your crying ass off of the ground, you fucking pansy. We're going to my place.'

Turning around to face him, I rub at my eyes theatrically so as to keep his attention above my waistline. The last thing I need is hot fish man noticing me wielding the mighty Excalibur. Not that it would really make much difference at this point in time. In fact, it sounds like the ideal end to this marvellous evening. I look at Mr. Grouper's face. The expression of disgust is still there, but isn't as prominent as before. I could swear that there's a hint of pity in his eyes, but then I remember that this is Mr. fuckig Grouper here. It's most likely self pity, which I guess is understandable – he is covered in my vomit, after all.

Just as we start walking in the direction of his pond, Mr. Grouper turns around to face me so fast that I almost slam into him. He grabs the front of my shirt in a clenched fist and pulls my face to his. His fish lips are close enough to mine that they would touch if I inched forward, but I daren't. Our eyes meet – his seem to almost burn with inner fury. He's so intense. If he looks at me like this for much longer, I swear I'm gonna make a mess of my jeans. After a couple of seconds, he speaks.

'But if you ever tell anyone that I helped you out in any way whatsoever, I'll break more than just your nose. Got it, Bird face?'

He releases me when I nod, turning to march off up the street as I trail along behind him. I just hope he's pissed off enough about this situation that he doesn't turn back to check on me at any point. It's pretty hard to walk like a normal person when you're drunk and your gun's cocked and loaded. I really do appreciate what he's doing though – he could have just left me crying on the sidewalk and went home. But at the same time, I'm apprehensive. Like I've said so many times before, this is Mr. Fishfuck we're talking about here – the guy who never does anything for anyone unless there's something for him to gain from it.

I wonder what he's hoping to gain from me tonight.

So, that's chapter four. I've got plans for at least fifteen possible chapters for this story, which is scary since this is only the fourth. I have a lot of work to do. Anyway, thanks for reading, and the review button is there if you wanna use it. Ciao for now!

DD (double DICKKKK)

xx


	5. Chapter 5 - Cherry

Author notes: Thanks to everyone who has been leaving comments and adding me to things and stuff. Love you for it! Here's chapter five. Warning- gets steamy towards the end! Enjoy!

Chapter Five - Cherry

Mr. Grouper's house was dark and silent as we entered through the front door. He had mentioned earlier that his home was wet. I didn't pry for details. The journey here had been silent. The walk had helped clear my head a little and I had managed to get rid of my boner thanks to the lingering taste of bile in the back of my throat being a total turn-off. Leaving the key in the door where he'd locked it behind us, Mr. Grouper strode by me and made his way up the stairs.

'Well, since I'm covered in gross tall person barf, I'm gonna go take a shower. I guess you can use it when I'm done, if you want. In the meantime, make yourself useful and get some coffee brewed. And try not to throw up again – we've just had the kitchen floor retiled.'

His voice fades slightly as he ascends the staircase, but I got the basic gist of what he said. I obediently wander across the living room into the kitchen and start up the coffee maker, trying my hardest not to think about Mr. Grouper upstairs in the shower. As the coffee started to drip into the pot, I went to the sink to splash some cold water on my face. My eyes feel so sore – I haven't cried like that in a while. Stupid whiskey.

I don't usually drink coffee as it reminds me off ass, but I desperately want to sober up before I do or say something stupid again. I pour myself a mug of black, adding a little water from the cold faucet so I can drink it quicker. By the time I've finished, Mr. Grouper appears in the kitchen doorway, scales glistening, still wet from the shower. He's wearing silky burgundy pyjamas. He looks good in that colour. I lick my lips unconsciously, trying not to stare. I've got to get a hold of myself. Just as I'm about to pour myself another cup of coffee, Mr. Grouper approaches and looks me up and down.

'Your clothes are wet.'

I look down at myself. He's right – my shirt and jeans are still damp from where I was sitting in the snow. Mr. Grouper shrugs and starts fixing himself a cup of coffee. He's deliberately not making eye contact with me. Helping the less famous 'birdfuck' out in his time of need must be a real strain on Mr. Grouper's sense of pride.

'You can hang them up somewhere to dry if you want, I don't care where. There's a t-shirt hanging up on the back of the bathroom door that you can wear for the time being. It'll probably be a bit big on you, but I guess it beats having your scrawny flat ass running round my house naked.'

I frown at that – I'm not scrawny, I just grew too tall for my weight, and although I'm skinny, I have some degree of muscle tone... It's very subtle…... but it's definitely there…... I consider voicing these thoughts, but I really can't be bothered with an argument right now. As I turn to make my way upstairs, Mr. Grouper speaks again.

'Oh, and there's a spare toothbrush underneath the bathroom sink if you wanna get the taste of scotch, fish flakes and vomit out of your mouth.'

I wonder if Mr. Grouper is being so thoughtful deliberately to freak me out. Or maybe he's just doing it so he can get in more wisecracks about me puking on him. I turn back to look at him – he still has his back fin to me. This is the longest I've ever seen anyone take to pour coffee into a cup. I'm not quite sure what to say.

'Err...thank yo-'

Mr. Grouper clears his throat, interrupting me. 'It's getting late. You should really hurry up and take your shower.'

He clearly doesn't want me to thank him, so I decide to cooperate and head upstairs to the bathroom. As the door closes behind me, the t-shirt Mr. Grouper told me about falls from the hanger on the back of the door. I pick it up and inspect it briefly – I don't like wearing green at all and it probably will be too big for me, but I'm strangely looking forward to wearing it. I hang it back up and start unbuttoning my shirt. The part of me that's wary of Mr. Grouper wants me to check the room for hidden cameras before taking off my clothes. I choose to ignore this notion. At least if Mr. Grouper is secretly filming me naked so he can use the footage to blackmail me at a later date, he'll also have video evidence that I'm clearly not as scrawny as he thinks I am…...

Once my shirt and jeans are off, I move a couple of towels off of the heated towel rack so I can hang up my clothes. As I go to slide off my boxers, I realise that they're pretty wet from being in the snow too. I hang them up beside my clothes, but I doubt they'll be dry in time for me finishing my shower. I carefully step into the bathtub and switch the shower on. Hot water cascades over me, and I start to feel normal again, which I haven't felt in years. I pick up a bar of soap from the edge of the bath. As I begin washing myself, it hits me that Mr. Grouper was just in here naked, probably using this very bar of soap to wash himself with. As tantalising as this thought is and as desperate as I am for some sort of release after the night I've had, I just wouldn't feel right polishing my piece in Mr. Grouper's bathroom. Instead, I settle for giving Little Craig an extra thorough wash and making promises to give him some much needed attention when I finally get home.

I dry off with one of the towels I removed from the rack earlier and take Mr. Grouper's big green t-shirt down from the back of the bathroom door. I breathe in the scent of the material as I slip it over my head – it smells like seaweed. In other words, it smells like Mr. Grouper. I'm disgusted at myself for knowing this. I'm like some sort of swooning fan-gill! When I get the t-shirt on properly, the sleeves come down to my elbows and the hem comes down to just above my mid thigh. It's more like a poncho. At least I can get away with not wearing any underwear with this on.

I open the door to the cupboard underneath the sink and am startled when a dozen or so packaged toothbrushes fall out on the bathroom floor. I quickly claim a pink toothbrush as my own and shove the rest back into the cupboard.

Never in my life have I been so happy to be brushing my teeth. After using about half a tube of toothpaste and a little of Mr. Grouper's mouthwash, I finally have my mouth feeling normal again. As I was brushing, something occurred to me that I found kind of strange – tonight, I kissed a guy right in front of Mr. Grouper and he hasn't made any derogatory comments about it yet. I mean, he laughed about Stan getting flustered and Wendy getting pissed off, but he hasn't said anything about me and what I did. I thought he would have at least called me a fag or something. It's strange, but intriguing also.

I wonder if Stan's thinking about me... Suddenly, my cell phone beeps inside my jeans pocket. I take my jeans down from the towel rack and fish the phone out to find a text message from Stan:

'DID U GET HOME ALLRITE? - SM'

I shudder slightly - it's really creepy when you're thinking about someone just as they call or text you. I quickly send a message back to him before switching the phone off, slipping it back into my pocket and replacing my jeans on the rack:

'YEAH, THANKS. HOPE I DIDNT RUIN YOUR NIGHT - CT'

I could have gone into detail about coming home with Mr. Grouper, but I doubt Stan would be interested right now and I did promise Mr. Grouper that I wouldn't tell anyone that he'd helped me. After clearing up any water I'd dripped onto the bathroom floor, I drop my wet towel into the laundry basket and headed back downstairs. Mr. Grouper is sitting on the couch in the living room, coffee cup in fin. The room is lit only by a lampshade in the corner of the room. It's kind of cosy. As I cross the room to the couch, I notice Mr. Grouper glance at me and grin, no doubt at how massive his t-shirt looks on me. I roll my eyes in recognition of this and flop down on the couch next to him.

'How come there's so many toothbrushes in your bathroom?'

He sighs. 'I don't know'.'

He sounds somewhat confused, and I suddenly feel sorry for him. It can't be easy being a fish. He must have been expecting me to make some sort of smartass remark, as he quickly continues talking.

'Speaking of knowledge, I just spoke to your mom. Told her that you'd come over to my place from Stan's so I could give you a one on one study lesson, and that we'd fallen asleep. She said to tell you to get home early in the morning so that you can take your pills. I forgot that you were freakin' druggo. No wonder you puked. Fuck knows what that weed's done to you.'

I consider pointing out that I am not a druggo and take medication for my depression, but I could swear that he sounds ever so slightly concerned and so I say nothing. There's a silence as Mr. Grouper sips his coffee.

'Look Mr. Grouper, I just wanted to say thanks for-'

'Don't you dare say the 'T' word to me, Tucker!'

I'm a little shocked at how harsh he sounds. He doesn't look at me, just staring angrily into his coffee cup. He quickly swallows the remaining contents of the cup and finally looks at me, face expressionless.

'Let's just say you owe me.'

I nod as Mr. Grouper visibly relaxes following his outburst. He leans forward to place his empty cup on the coffee table in front of us. When he sits back, it feels like he's somehow moved closer to me. I can feel the heat from his body radiating against mine and suddenly have images of naked scales flashing through my mind. I feel that familiar tingle and scoot away from him a little.

'Er...so, how can I repay you?'

Probably not the best topic of discussion I could have chosen. Mr. Grouper gets that look about him that tells me he's gonna do something to majorly piss me off. He pretends to look like he's deep in thought, eyes cast upwards as he strokes his chin.

'I've done you a lot of favours tonight, Craig. I leave behind free booze and food to attend to your drunken ass. You barfed on me, and I let it slide even though you did it all over my favourite fucking jacket. I've allowed you to use my shower, drink my coffee and wear my clothes. And most importantly, I saved you from the wrath of your charming mother. What could I possibly want from you in return for all of that? What could I want from Craig? Let's see...'

'Just spill it, Grouper!'

I snap because he's successfully getting me riled up - not only by reminding me of what a dick I've made of myself tonight, but also because of the sinister quality to his low drawling voice. I can practically feel my cock twitching as he looks me in the eye, a deranged grin plastered across his shiny handsome face.

'Are you still a virgin, Craig?'

'What?!'

My eyes nearly fall out of my head. I can't believe he just asked me that, especially in that tone of voice. I suddenly become very aware that I have no underwear on, and shift on the couch to ensure that I don't start pitching a tent. Mr. Grouper looks at me as if he can't understand why I'd be struggling to answer such a straightforward question.

'A simple yes or no answer will suffice, Craig.'

Mr. Grouper grins wider as I blush and look away. He's fucking loving this. And as it happens, so am I.

'Yes.'

'I see. Interesting...'

I jump when one of Mr. Grouper's fins slide up onto my knee and squeezes gently. The other reaches over to cup my chin and turn my face back around to look at his.

'In that case, that's what I want.'

'Excuse me?'

Chuckling, Mr. Grouper brings his face forward so close to mine that the tips of my nose is touching his face. His dark eyes burn with the pleasure of his mischief as they gaze into mine. His breathe is hot and fragrant of fish flakes and coffee against my lips as he speaks.

'I think it's the least you could do for me. I wanna pop your little tweet bird cherry, Craig.'

My heart stops in my chest as his grip on my knee tightens slightly. As marvellously hot as this is making me, and as much as I'd like him to be, I know he's not serious. I can tell by his teasing facial expression that he's just trying to freak me out. Two can play at this game though. Smiling lasciviously, I take a deep even breath before giving my response.

'Go ahead.'

Mr. Grouper's smirk fades instantly and he jumps back from me like I've just bitten him.

'What the hell?!'

He looks completely stunned. I like this game. Though part of me – the part that is still tipsy and incredibly horny - wonders if I could actually convince him to 'pop my cherry', as he put it. Would I really want Mr. Grouper to be my first time though? I quickly weigh the value of my virginity against how badly I want Mr. Grouper to fuck my brains out. It's a no contest.

'You heard me. If that's what you want, take it. It's yours.'

Mr. Grouper looks at me like I've gone completely mental. 'I was kidding, Craig!'

'I'm not.'

I almost can't believe that I'm doing this, but if it gets me what I want in the end then I really don't care. However, it does occur to me that I'm totally putting myself at risk here – even though I've had my suspicions, I have no idea whether or not Mr. Grouper is even remotely gay, and he could quite easily kick the shit out of me for coming onto him like this. On the other hand, I'd probably quite enjoy that, so it's pretty much a win-win situation for me. Judging by the look in his eyes, I don't think he finds the idea all that repulsive anyway.

'get out...'

'everybody line up, everybody outside '

He eyes me trying to hold back his laugh to my reference. 'You're wasted.'

I pout at this. 'I am not! And so what if I was? Don't tell me that you'd feel guilty for taking advantage of me, because that's bullshit. You never feel guilty for anything.'

Smiling sweetly, I chew on my bottom lip as slowly slide closer to Mr. Grouper. His body tenses slightly as I snake my arm around his shoulders and lean into him, trying to look as innocent as possible as I gaze into his eyes.

'Don't you want to?' I tweet.

Mr. Grouper opens his mouth to reply, but no sound comes out. He looks really freaked out. This is fun.

'A simple yes or no answer will suffice, Mr. Grouper.'

Unable to break his eyes away from my gaze, he raises an eyebrow as I mock his tone from earlier. I think his face is red but I can't really tell when he's naturally orange. Suddenly feeling very brave, I place my free hand on the centre of Mr. Grouper's chest and slide it down his front until I reach the elasticised waistband of his pyjama bottoms. He jumps and lets out a short squeal of surprise when I trail my fingers over the growing fish bulge.

I'm suddenly glad the lighting is poor as I can feel my face flush as well. I can't believe he's actually getting hard over what I'm doing – I mean, I'm barely touching him. Regardless, I can't afford to blow this by growing shy all of a sudden, so I chuckle softly as I stroke the hardening area for a second time.

'I'll take that as a yes.'

I crane my neck to the side so that I can lick and nibble at his fin – apparently this is supposed to feel really good, though I can't really say for sure having no fins myself. A shuddery breath escapes Mr. Grouper's lips. In response, I slowly move to straddle his hips, moving my face downwards to kiss his neck. I slide my hands back up his torso and caress his shoulders in my palms. His shoulders feel so fucking good to touch, and I express this by moaning as my teeth gently graze the skin of Mr. Grouper's neck.

Suddenly I feel Mr. Grouper's hands on my lower back as he pulls me closer to him. That's all well and good, but I really wish he would get more into what we're doing. This dominance thing is pretty fun, but I would much prefer him to take control. Pushing my crotch against his to let him know I'm as wound-up as him, I reach to undo the top button of his pyjama shirt. Noticing this, he suddenly grabs my hands in his fins, halting my actions. I pull back and look into his face. His eyes are blazing with desire, but he also seems a little sceptical.

'Why would you want to do this with me?'

A perfectly reasonable question, to which I give a perfectly reasonable response.

'Because I think it'll be awesome.'

Mr. Grouper stares at me for a long time, as if scanning for any trace of insincerity. He won't find any – I want to do this so badly, it scares me. I want him to take me right here on this couch, to fuck me until I'm bleeding and screaming his name. My eyes seem to communicate this effectively, as Mr. Grouper slowly breaks into a fiendish smile.

'You bet your flat fucking ass it will.'

End of conversation.

Before I have a chance to think, Mr. Grouper's tongue is invading my mouth. He tastes like coffee and sea water, but that combination is fucking delicious as far as I'm concerned. I kiss back with a passion I didn't know I had and hear him moan in reply. His hands reach round to squeeze at my ass as I resume unbuttoning his shirt.

When I'm halfway done, I'm suddenly flipped onto my back on the couch. Mr. Grouper pounces on top of me, pinning me against the cushions as our lips meet once again. My fingernails dig into Mr. Grouper's scales as he straddles my hips and slides his fins up my inner thigh. When it reaches the top, I feel Mr. Grouper's lips curl into a smile against mine. I hiss and throw my head back against the arm of the couch as he experiments with fondling my shaft. It feels like I've waited forever for those fingers to touch me like that.

I'm enjoying this so much, but heavy petting just isn't going to be enough to satisfy me. Mr. Grouper probably just doesn't realise what I want. I'll just have to drop a subtle hint. I break off the kiss.

'Do you have to be so goddamn gentle? I'm not gonna fucking break, dude.'

So much for subtly. Mr. Grouper frowns in confusion, then gets what I mean and laughs aloud.

'So, the uptight flat ass bird nose likes a little of the rough stuff, huh?'

I nod a little too enthusiastically considering the insult fille question. 'I love the rough stuff.'

Understatement of the century. Laughing again, Mr. Grouper strokes his fins through my hair as he grinds himself against me firmly.

'How much do you love it?'

I smirk. 'Dish it out and I'll let you know how it tastes.'

I can't remember the last time I'd seen Mr. Grouper look so pleased.

'Well then, if you insist...'

I wince as Mr. Grouper grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my face to his roughly. He kisses me hard enough to draw the breath from my lungs, biting down on my lip until a familiar coppery taste fills my mouth. He gives my shaft a few hard strokes and then slides his hand underneath me to grip my ass, firmly pulling me closer to him. I shudder and moan under his assault, cupping the back of his head in my hands to increase the pressure of the kiss and bucking my hips into his tail. Now this is more like it!

Without warning, Mr. Grouper breaks the kiss and jumps up. He grabs me by the arm and drags me from the couch, releasing me so that I fall into a heap on the floor. I yelp slightly when the skin of my knees tears away as they scrape against the carpet. Mr. Grouper kneels down beside me as blood starts to drip down my shins. He eyes my wounds hungrily, and leans forward to lap at the blood with long leisurely slurps of his tongue. My tender skin stings as he works, and sends delightful little waves of pleasure coursing through my body. I swallow a mouthful of blood from where Mr. Grouper's feverish kisses broke my lip open, moaning in the knowledge that Mr. Grouper and I are both enjoying the same sweet metallic taste in our mouths.

When he is finished licking, Mr. Grouper glances down between my legs and smiles, no doubt fully able to see the affects his ministrations have had on me. Satisfied with his work, he gets to his feet. I look up into his face and he stares down at me, smirking in his usual fishily sadistic manner as he nods towards the staircase.

'Upstairs, Craig.'

Oh, I do love Slutty Craig and Reluctant Mr. Grouper! Actually, I'd imagine I'm probably gonna have a few negative comments about the characterisation of these two here, but please note that there's reasons for everything I'm doing, so please humour me for now. If anyone has any questions/would like to discuss my characterisation with me in detail, please do PM me. I love a good CraigXMr. Grouper related chat!

I'm going to have to hoist up the rating of this story from here on out, methinks. Just to pre-warn you – if any of the stuff in this chapter made you squirm (in a bad way), then you're best off giving chapter 6 a miss and waiting for chapter 7, 'cause there's lots more filth to come. Thanks for reading! Please spare a moment to review.

DD

Xx


	6. Chapter 6 - Analogy

Author Notes: Thank you so much, readers! I got so many reviews for the last chapter that I really hope this one doesn't disappoint. I was told not to hold back in this chapter, and I haven't. This is the first time I've wrote anything this explicit, so I hope I've pulled it off. Let me know, and enjoy!

Chapter 6 - Analogy

I don't know how, but we manage to make it to Mr. Grouper's room. I would have been quite happy to do it on the couch, on the stairs, in the hallway, and all the other places we stopped to make out along the way. If Mr. Grouper is trying to tease me, it's definitely fucking working. I'm so hard, it physically hurts.

He currently has me sandwiched between his bedroom door and his body, kissing me hard and sucking the last of the blood from the wound on my lip. His palms are pressed against the door either side of my head, trapping me in place. I'm currently busy trying to undo his pyjama shirt. I've been trying to do this every time he's held still long enough for me to get at the buttons, but he keeps pushing my hands away. It's so fucking frustrating, but I think that's the idea.

Mr. Grouper breaks the kiss and pulls away from me. Although it's pretty dark, I can still make out the hungry feral smile on his face. He opens the bedroom door and pushes me inside. Moonlight pours in through the window, illuminating the room with a ghostly blue glow. Before I can even locate where the bed is, I find myself pinned to it on my back. Mr. Grouper grips my wrists tightly as he holds me down and stares into my eyes. In the moonlight, I can see his face clearly for the first time since our game begin – I feel like I'm being sized up by some wild animal ready to tear me apart. He briefly brings his face forward and chastely brushes his lips against mine before getting down to business.

'Alright, flatass. If I'm gonna make you mine, there's some ground rules to adhere to. In this bedroom, you will refer to me as Master. And I shall refer to you as whatever I fucking please. We clear?'

'Crystal clear.'

'I'm sorry? Crystal clear, what?'

'Crystal clear...Master.'

I'm shaking with desire as these words pass through my lips. Mr. Grouper seems to notice this and smiles his approval before stroking my hair again.

'Now I am a tough but fair master, so good behaviour shall be rewarded. On the other hand, bad behaviour will be severely punished. Understood?'

He sounds like a real dictator – I guess something good has come from all those years playing the role of a teacher in his famous tv show, Bubble Guppies. I nod in agreement.

'Yes Master.'

'One more thing – we need a safe word. So if things are getting too much for you, just say 'lunch' and we'll stop.'

I frown. 'lunch? Why lunch? ...Master?' I hastily add.

Irritated, Mr. Grouper rolls his eyes and sighs. 'Because it reminds me of my favorite student, Nonny, and will kill the mood for me instantly if you say it! So don't, unless absolutely necessary. Got it?'

He doesn't give me a chance to reply this time, locking lips with me once again. He kisses like he argues, so forceful and passionate. His lips feel slightly chapped, but I think mine are too so it doesn't really make a difference. He pulls back to look at me again, fingering the t-shirt I'm wearing thoughtfully.

'You look so fucking sexy wearing my shirt, Craig.'

Did Mr. Grouper just pay me a compliment? That was weird. But then again, what about tonight hasn't been weird?

'Thank you, Master.'

Mr. Grouper kisses me again and pushes himself up to sit astride my hips.

'But I think you'll look better with it off.'

I hear a familiar clicking sound and see the moonlight glinting off a shiny metal surface. Mr. Grouper brandishes his favourite flick knife in front of my face, his eyes locked on me as he checks for my reaction. I quickly assess the situation - I'm a helpless horny little bird trapped underneath an anti-bird, knife-wielding psychopath by the name of Mr. Grouper. If I wasn't so turned on, I'd probably piss myself. Have I made a really stupid mistake here?

He trails the back of the knife over my chin and passed my Adam's apple to the neck hole of the t-shirt. I don't even dare to breathe as he makes an incision in the t-shirt and slowly drags the blade down over my chest, tearing through the green material. My heart speeds up –the idea that Mr. Grouper could possibly give me quite a nasty cut or worse is scary, but at the same time oh-so thrilling. I hear Mr. Grouper chuckle as he gages my reaction.

'You see, Craig, You can trust me. I'll never hurt you...'

He reaches the hem of the t-shirt without causing me any injury.

'...unless you want me to.'

Mr. Grouper removes the destroyed t-shirt from my body and sits back to observe his handiwork. I slowly realise that I'm completely naked and aroused. I would feel embarrassed, but judging by Mr. Grouper's face, he likes what he sees.

'I knew you'd look better this way,' he gushes. 'I never thought that my annoying little bird nose would be so fucking sexy behind his faggy clothes and constant bitching. So fucking perfect...my perfect little cock-slave.'

I watch as Mr. Grouper finally slides his pyjama shirt off and slings it to one side. His shoulders are so fucking incredible. I lick my dry lips and moan softly as I imagine my fingernails digging into those scales as Mr. Grouper fucks me through his mattress. He hears my moans and raises a curious eyebrow.

'You like what you see, my little slut? I bet you do. I'll show you more if you're willing to make it worth my while.'

I nodded breathlessly. 'Of course, Master.'

Grinning, Mr. Grouper gets up and pulls me into a kneeling position on the edge of the bed as he moves. He stands in front of me and gestures to his pyjama trousers. I gingerly reach out and tug the silken material down to the floor. He has no underwear and a pretty hot cock – it's not as long as mine is, but it's still a good length and quite thick.

'All the better to fuck you with, huh?'

My face flushes at this – it's almost like he read my mind there.

'Well, now that I've allowed you to check out my hot masculine bod, it's time for you to show me your gratitude.'

I cringe slightly - I think I know where this is going. Mr. Grouper cups my chin and lifts my face to meet his. His eyes are practically glittering with anticipation.

'Suck my balls, slave.'

How predictable! Who the fuck couldn't have seen that one coming a mile off? Leprechauns start dancing around in my head. I swore I'd never do this. I'm not even sure I know how. I mean, I've seen it done, but I never had the chance to develop my own technique. Though I guess that's what tonight is all about. Mr. Grouper must notice my apprehension, as he reaches down to gently stroke my hair.

'Don't be shy, my dear Craigifer. If you suck these half as well as you sucked your long fingers, I'll be more than happy.'

I smirk shyly at that. So he was watching after all, and enjoying it apparently. My stomach tingles and my ever erect cock twitches. Screw it. I know I swore I'd never do this, but I said a lot of things when I was nine that mean fuck all now.

I carefully take Mr. Grouper's package into my hands and fondle him curiously. I've never touched another guy like this before, but I've thought about doing it a lot. Especially to Mr. Grouper. In the back of my mind, I can hear a nine year old version of myself having the biggest temper tantrum in history. I snigger, and just as Mr. Grouper opens his mouth to query this, I take one of his balls in between my lips and transform his question into a low growl of satisfaction.

I suckle gently at first, then harder when I decide I'm quite happy with the clean taste of Mr. Grouper's freshly showered skin. I make sure I give his other nut equal attention, then take them both into my mouth so I can experiment. As I'm sucking, I swirl the tip of my tongue against his balls and very gently graze my teeth against his scales. I can hear Mr. Grouper making happy sounds in the back of his throat, throwing his head back in pleasure.

'So much for never sucking my balls, bird,' he sneers. 'You just love having a mouthful of my nuts, don't you bitch?'

I actually do. I love the feeling of his smooth wet scales on the tip of my tongue, hearing him groan because he's so satisfied and listening to him talk dirty to me like that. When I get bored with ballsucking, I switch to his cock, taking him deep into the back of my throat and moaning loudly so that the vibrations of my vocal chords can tantalise him further. I've seen this in porn a couple of times and I'm really pleased to see that it works – Mr. Grouper's fins thread into my hair and squeeze tightly as he hisses in ecstasy.

'You're such a good ballsucking little bird, Craig. So good that I'm going to reward you. Your reward is you can choose whether you spit or swallow.'

What a choice. I'm not sure if I want Mr. Grouper's cum in my mouth at all. At least not just yet. I haven't even tasted my own before. I think back through all the dirty movies I've watched and suddenly hit a brainwave. I let Mr. Grouper's still erect cock slide from my lips and start jerking him off as I lock eyes with him and smile sweetly.

'Actually Master, if it so pleases you, I'd much rather finish you off with my hand and have you cum all over my face.'

I'm trying desperately hard not to laugh as Mr. Grouper suddenly gets this look on his face like he's been given a really complicated math problem to solve.

'Jesus Christ! I mean, er...'

His next words dissolve into a loud moan as I speed up my wrist action. Mr. Grouper cries out as he comes, his hot seed splashing out across my cheek, nose and chin as planned. Curiosity gets the better of me and I flick my tongue out to sample the small amount that landed close to my lip. It kinda salty - not particularly pleasant but not unpleasant either.

I suddenly feel something brushing against my face. I look up to see Mr. Grouper kneeling beside me. He reaches out his hand and gently wipes his cum from my cheek. He's got the biggest smile on his face as he leans into kiss me again. Mr. Grouper's kissed me a lot tonight. There's never this much kissing in the porn I watch. I'm not sure why, as it seems to heighten the sexual experience. Mr. Grouper's lips and tongue feel so good against mine that I get this weird feeling of disappointment whenever we pull away from each other.

'Good little tweet, what an excellent answer you gave. And as a reward for your initiative, I'm going to return the favour.'

Mr. Grouper helps me to move so that I'm sitting on the edge of the bed and then pushes me onto my back again. Starting at my neck, he kisses his way down my torso, along my hip and down my leg to just above my knee. They're like little bolts of static electricity, charging my body with undeniable warmth as I lay back and enjoy the attention I'm getting.

Mr. Grouper hesitates for a second before planting a kiss on the inside of my thigh. As he pulls his face back, I feel something sharp and cold against the spot that was just kissed. Mr. Grouper flicks his wrist and I cry out as I feel a small stinging pain like the knick of a razor blade. I glance down to see Mr. Grouper licking at the wound he has just inflicted upon me with his flick knife. He kisses another spot higher up on my thigh and repeats the process, gashing the area he'd just kissed and then licking the wound affectionately. This 'kiss, cut and lick' cycle is like a triple threat of bliss, and a testament to how creative I know Mr. Grouper can be when he puts his mind to it.

He continues until he reaches the very top of my thigh, where he discards his knife (much to my relief) and turns his attention to my aching cock. I notice his technique is quite different from mine, running his tongue up and down the length of the shaft and suckling on the tip rather than going for the whole thing like I did.

What the fuck am I discussing technique for? I should be laying back and enjoying this!

I moan as Mr. Grouper takes me further into his mouth, fondling my balls as he sucks me harder. This feels really good, but I think I actually prefer giving head to receiving it. I was just enjoying it so much more when I was hearing Mr. Grouper's satisfied groans ringing in my ears. I guess I like knowing my partner is enjoying himself. Go figure.

It doesn't take Mr. Grouper long to drive me to the edge, since I've been sitting with a constant boner for most of the night now.

'Mr. Grouper, I'm gonna come! Ah! Mr. Grouper!'

He doesn't pull away and I release into his mouth. When he's sure I've been sucked dry, Mr. Grouper slowly pulls himself up from where he was kneeling on the floor. He leans over me and smiles gleefully, capturing my lips with his once more. But as my lips part welcomingly, I suddenly become aware of the fact that Mr. Grouper hasn't disposed of my load yet.

I try to protest, but my cries are literally drowned out as a wave of my own seed floods my mouth. Mr. Grouper makes it clear that he's not going to move until I've swallowed by locking my lips firmly shut with his own. I reluctantly oblige, not overly keen on the idea of suffocating on my own cum. I notice that it tastes like his, only slightly sweeter. Satisfied that I've done his bidding, Mr. Grouper pulls back to look at me, smirking like a madman. I gasp for air, licking at the side of my mouth where a trickle of cum tried to escape from. I must look so pissed off, and he's loving it.

'Did you enjoy that, slave? You tasted so good, I just had to share it.'

'You could have fucking warned me!'

Seriously, I'm all for this S&M thing, but that was fucking gross! Mr. Grouper tilts his head to one side, giving me a look of mock horror.

'What's that, slave? Is that any way to speak to your master?'

I cringe at myself for breaking character, but I can't believe he's actually scolding me for getting pissed off at him for doing that.

'Sorry, Master!'

My reply is sarcastic and said through gritted teeth. No way am I genuinely apologising to someone who just fed my own cum back to me! Mr. Grouper's eyes narrow slightly.

'I don't think I like your tone, slave. I think a little punishment is in order.'

His voice is low, dangerous and full of promise, and I'm instantly back to being turned on. Mr. Grouper moves to sit beside me on the edge of the bed, and pulls me up onto him so that my body is dangling over his lap. One of his fins grips onto my hair while the other delicately caresses my ass. Mr. Grouper makes contemplative sounds as he touches me.

'I believe you called me Mr. Grouper as you came. Twice. And then you cussed at me. What a naughty little slave you are, Craig.'

His hand abruptly leaves my ass, and returns to it full force. The cry I let out mingles with the sound of scales impacting against feathers, and the sting of the violent blow to my ass sends a shockwave of bliss through my body.

'I think you're in need of a fucking good spanking, Craig,' Mr. Grouper growls. 'Wouldn't you agree?'

'Yes, Master,' I pant. 'Please punish me.'

'How naughty have you been, slave?'

I can hear the smirk in Mr. Grouper's voice. 'Extremely naughty, Master,' I reply.

'Hmm, in that case I'll have to punish you good and hard.'

I feel Mr. Grouper lean to the side as he reaches for something with his spanking fin. His other fin is still in my hair and alternates between tugging and stroking my black locks. Seconds later, more painful pleasure rips through my body as the crack of leather on skin echoes around the room. I hear Mr. Grouper experimenting with cracking the belt strap like a whip before continuing my punishment. With every blow that hits my skin, my cock gets a little harder and I groan a little louder. After a dozen or so blows, Mr. Grouper pauses to give my ass a quick rub.

'I think you're enjoying this a little too much, slave. Time to step things up a notch, I think.'

The soft slapping leather is replaced by a blow of hard cold metal, and I yelp as my body tries to adjust to this new agony. Another one comes and I feel the sharp points of the belt buckle piercing my skin. Tears sting the surface of my eyes and I'm practically screaming as each impact comes. Yet I'm still enjoying this so much, and somehow I'm proud of the fact that I'm going to have a lot of bruises to show for this whole experience tomorrow.

After a few more blows, Mr. Grouper stops and tosses the belt to one side. After we both take a few seconds to get our breath back, Mr. Grouper lifts me back up and sits me in his lap. I can feel his hard cock pressed against my battered ass, and I lean into him so that my back is pressed against his chest. He responds by wrapping his fins around me, stroking my skin in an almost affectionate way. I feel his warm breath on my ear.

'Have you learned your lesson yet, slave?'

I nodded wordlessly as he kisses my ear lightly.

'Of course you have. Perhaps I was a little hard on you. Just look at what I've done to your beautiful flat ass.'

With great ease, he flips me over so that I'm on the bed on my hands and knees. He gets on the bed and kneels behind me, caressing my ass tenderly. I feel him kiss one of the more painful areas and my cock trembles.

'Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?'

I know exactly what I want him to do, and I'm no longer afraid to ask for it.

'You can fuck me until I bleed, Master.'

There's a moment of silence, as Mr. Grouper's fins leisurely trail over the little cuts on my thighs.

'Say that again.'

I can tell by the sound of his voice that he's absolutely delighted by this situation. That makes two of us.

'I want you to fuck me until I bleed, Master.'

'Beg me for it,' he hisses.

'Please fuck me, Master! I'm begging you to fuck me until I bleed!'

Mr. Grouper chuckles at my trill pleading cries.

'Certainly.'

Without warning, Mr. Grouper parts the cheeks of my ass with his hands and I feel something wet pressing against my opening. At first I think he's grabbed some lube without me noticing, but then I realise that he's actually probing me with his tongue. As the damp muscle writhes around inside me, Mr. Grouper roughly squeezes my bruised ass. The unique mixture of pleasure and pain is so exhilarating and intense that I could quite happily blow my load right now. I hang in there though, my breathing rapid and shallow as Mr. Grouper invades my most personal area with his mouth.

After a moment, he pulls back and I let out an involuntary moan of disappointment. I hear Mr. Grouper chuckle, and then the sound of him spitting. I assume he's preparing himself.

'Get ready to bleed, my slave.'

He seizes my hips tightly and presses the head of his cock against my entrance. He hesitates a moment before plunging himself into my tightness. I cry out in pain at the unfamiliar feeling of being totally invaded, and try to relax the tension in my body as Mr. Grouper slowly thrusts in and out of me. Once my pained cries begin melting into those of passion, Mr. Grouper starts to build up speed, groaning loudly as my tight internal muscles clamp down on his cock.

'Thank god you're such a tight assed bird fucker, Craig!' he yells. 'My fucking god!'

'Aah! Fuck! Harder, Master!' I scream in reply.

Mr. Grouper complies, fucking me for all he's worth. His fins dig into my hips, and mine in turn claw at the bed sheets. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as I start to rock back against Mr. Grouper's thrusts, matching his rhythm perfectly. We both moan and grunt incoherently for what feels like a lifetime until finally I see spots and hit a screaming orgasm. Seconds later, Mr. Grouper explodes inside me with a long primitive groan. He holds me in place for a moment longer before pulling out, allowing us both to collapse onto the bed, exhausted.

For a long time, we just lay there side by side panting loudly, staring up at the ceiling. I can't believe Mr. Grouper and I just did that, but I'm so fucking glad that we did, because it was the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. I decide to break the silence.

'Wow...'

I can see Mr. Grouper nod in agreement out of the corner of my eye. 'Yeah...that was even more fun than arguing with you.'

We both snigger at that. Mr. Grouper rolls onto his side and strokes his fins through my hair. He's been touching my hair a lot tonight. I guess it feels good to touch or something. I turn my head to face him. As our eyes meet, he flashes me a Cheshire cat smile.

'I really like this side of you, Craig.'

I grin back at him. 'I'm glad I please you so, Master.'

Mr. Grouper rolls his eyes and waves his hand dismissively. 'Lunch. You can call me whatever you want now.'

'In that case, I'm glad I please you so...fish breath.'

'Hey!'

I turn on my side to face him, frowning. 'You're lucky that's all I'm calling you after that 'return to sender' stunt you pulled!'

'Hey, you could have said the safe word at any time.'

'Not with a mouthful of spooge, I couldn't!'

'There's nothing wrong with a little snowballing, you uptight big nose.'

'You still think I'm uptight after all that?'

'Nah. In fact, I think you're a total slut. And I'm never going to let you live down the fact that you made the first move.'

'I'm not a slut! And like hell I did, fatass! You're the one that got me drunk and started talking about cherry popping!'

'You were the one running around my house without any panties on, fucker! You were just asking for it. I've always suspected that you longed for my hot body, you kinky fucking sex freak.'

'I am not a sex freak!'

'Yeah, just really fucking kinky.'

'Fuck you!'

'You just did.'

I let out a sound of exasperation and roll onto my other side so I'm facing away from him. In a way though, I'm glad that things have just gone straight back to normal. I mean, I always thought that sleeping with your friends made things uncomfortable. It's probably just because Mr. Grouper and I aren't really 'friends' technically. I mean, I guess we're close in a way, and we know a shitload about each other from hanging around together for so many years. But we've both agreed on numerous occasions that the phrase 'friendship' simply does not apply to our relationship.

After a few seconds of silence, I hear Mr. Grouper shifting behind me. Much to my surprise, his arm snakes around my waist and he pulls me to him so my back presses against his chest. I have to hold myself back from sniggering - I never would have imagined that Mr. Grouper would be the type to want to cuddle afterwards.

'Craig?'

'Yeah?'

'Sorry for busting your dumb bird nose the other day.'

What the fuck? Has Satan been forgetting to pay his heating bill or something, because Hell has officially frozen over! I burst out laughing and turn over in Mr. Grouper's fins to face him. He has this look on his face like he's just had to give his last bag of money to charity. He really hates apologising. It must be the alcohol talking.

'Don't you dare say the 'S' word to me, Mr. Grouper.'

We laugh together as I mock his tone from earlier in the evening. Our eyes lock for a moment. I suddenly feel choked up and my face starts turning red. Woah - where the hell did that come from? I guess the guy did just stick his tongue up my ass – of course I'm gonna get embarrassed when I look at him. I nuzzle my face into Mr. Grouper's chest so that he doesn't notice how flustered I'm getting. The arm around me suddenly tightens and I swear to Moses that Mr. Grouper actually sniffs my hair. I guess he just really likes my hair. In fairness, I do use a very nice smelling shampoo, and there's every possibility that I could have been imagining him doing it. I clear my throat to break any tension.

'What time is it?'

I feel Mr. Grouper's head turn towards his nightstand where his alarm clock is situated. he laughs under his breath.

'It's time for lunch. Think we should get some sleep.'

I consider this for a second. Very soon, morning will come and this night will be nothing but a memory for both of us. Sleep isn't very appealing to me right now. I don't voice my opinion – I simply slide my hand down Mr. Grouper's front to his cock. When I reach my goal, I feel something rubbery – I didn't notice Mr. Grouper putting a condom on, but I guess he did. Again, that was strangely considerate of him, but I choose not to question it. Instead, I quickly remove the condom, tie it up and expel it from the bed before returning to Mr. Grouper's now semi-erect member. I sense him turn his face towards me, and I meet his questioning gaze with a smirk.

'What's the matter? Never pulled an all-nighter before?'

Grinning, he lifts me on top of him and I grind my crotch into his as we both start to grow hard again. Mr. Grouper sighs contentedly.

'After all that, you're still not satisfied? Horny freak.'

I laugh lightly. 'We might as well make the most of it. It's not as if we do this every day.'

'True. Though I wouldn't mind it one bit if we did.'

We both smile and lean in for a kiss. I don't think I've ever felt so happy to be in agreement with Mr. Grouper. And even though the word 'friendship' may not be best used to describe our relationship, I'm hoping that maybe the term 'fuck buddies' can become the perfect analogy.

Well, I hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing it! The story does not end here, so stay tuned as the next chapter will be heading your way shortly. Reviews/comments are welcomed, as usual. Thanks for reading!

DD

xx

PS: Did anyone get the 'lunch' reference? If not, go to Youtube and search 'Mr. Grouper line up song'. Absolutely hilarious!


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